


Intimates

by shutterbug_12 (shutterbug)



Category: West Wing
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Laundry, Moving In Together, Post-Canon, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't believe you still sew your name in the back of your underwear, which, by the way, we never discussed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimates

**Author's Note:**

> Post-series, but references _The Leadership Breakfast_ (2.11).

Josh stacked the last of Donna's boxes near the foot of his-- _their_ \--bed and toed off his shoes. With a utility knife, he sliced through a strip of clear tape and opened the top box--marked **CLOTHES** in Sharpie marker so fresh that he still smelled the ink.

A snort skittered out of him.

"What?" Donna asked from where she knelt on the carpet, a nervous smile on her face as she unpacked a box of personal and toiletry items of which Josh wanted no part. ("Donna, I can't imagine why I'd need to handle your--feminine hygiene products before it's absolutely necessary. So, I think I'll just go to the car and, you know, get the rest of the boxes.")

His smile grew wider. "I can't believe you still do this," he said, withdrawing a pink pair of underwear. "I can't believe you still sew your name in the back of your underwear, which, by the way, we never discussed, and I--"

"And there's really no reason why we need to discuss it now, Josh."

"No reason?" he asked as he extended her underwear, her stitched name on display. "Donna, your name--first and last, I should add--is right _here_. Right here, right now, in your underwear that I have in my hand."

Donna's stare smoldered. "It's an old pair. I don't do that anymore. I haven't--"

"Since the news circulated through the office?"

"As much as I'd love to give you that satisfaction, no. My underwear has been nameless for a couple years now, Josh."

"Okay, fine," he said, launching himself onto the bed, underwear still in hand. "That's fine. But here's what I don't understand."

"It's a little late in the day to tackle a comprehensive list of all the things you don't understand." She stood and rounded the foot of the bed.

He flashed her a smirk, tracing her underwear's thin band of elastic with his thumb. "I don't understand, Donna Moss, why your name was sewn into your underwear in the first place." He studied the threads with a shake of his head. The breadth of his smile strained his cheeks, and a dull ache framed his mouth-- _completely worth it_. "Why would a _grown_ woman have her name sewn in her own underwear?"

She folder her arms across her chest. "Josh."

"I mean it, Donna," he said. "What _poss_ ible reason could there be for--"

"Okay, look," she said, her face scrunched and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Okay. Yes, I sewed my name in my underwear, but, to be fair, I also sewed my name in my shirts, and pants, and--Josh, I swear, if you don't wipe that smirk off your face, I'm packing up these boxes and moving back to my apartment."

He shifted where he lay and forced a neutral, attentive expression; her threat resonated enough to send his heart into a pitter-patter and command his full efforts. "Why?"

"Because my apartment--the one before my last one, the one above that flower shop--didn't have a washer and dryer, so I did all my laundry at that laundromat down the street. And, because I worked for _you_ eighteen hours a day"--she paused while her lips curved into a soft smile--"I rushed through it and, sometimes, I accidentally left some--"

Josh's grin resurfaced. "Lingerie?"

" _Garments_ in the dryer," she said, sitting beside him. "When I got sick of losing my tank tops and, yes, pairs of underwear, I sewed my name under the tags, just in case anyone turned them in to the attendant."

He studied her face, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement as he considered the details of her story.

She rolled her eyes as she stole her underwear out of his hands. "Of course," she said. "You'd rather believe whatever story you've concocted for yourself in your head. Your twisted little--"

"I just think your story could have used a little more rehearsal," he teased, propping himself up on his elbows. "Good details, but the delivery--"

He cut his words short when she leaped off the bed, emptied her box of underwear into the trash, and strode out of the room.

"Hey! Donna!" he called, pushing off the bed to follow her. When he caught up to her, shed already reached the door. "Where are you going?"

With her hand on the doorknob, she turned to face him. "To buy new underwear."

He dove for his nearest pair of shoes. "Wait! Donna, wait," he said, his imagination suddenly full of visions of Donna in--and out of--new underwear. Different cuts, colors, fabrics. All drop-dead sexy.

Swinging the door shut behind him, he hurried after her, careful not to trip over his laces.  



End file.
